


meatheads

by lofty



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: F/M, Gen, Humor, Marriage Proposal, Speed Eating, eating in gross detail, everyone saw it coming but boyd, too much pie, vomiting in gross detail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 21:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10290869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lofty/pseuds/lofty
Summary: All Boyd wanted to do was offer his hand to Mist in marriage, but he never expected he had to eat his way to her heart... in a speed-eating match against Ike no less.





	

Mist wipes at her brow, a victorious grin playing across her face as she moves to set the freshly baked pie on the countertop, only to discover she barely has any room to place it among the ranks of its brethren, all deemed unworthy of the event they were created for.

“Rats! Nnn, hot, hot, hot…!” she squeaks much like her choice of expletive and settles for the hearth instead, expelling a gust of breath at having narrowly avoided dropping it or sustaining any more burns through the flour-dusted cloth she used to pick it up. Standing at full height, she appraises it with hands on hips and a look of approval. 

“This one’s gotta be it! I just have a really good feeling. I may not have made it with the most love, but it was made with the most practice.” Just then, her smile drops, and she scatters her fingertips through her hair and yanks and groans. “But that’s not how it’s supposed to be! It’s totally backwards…”

Still, the last thing she wants this evening is for Boyd to ridicule her food with pie shoved in his stupid crinkling face, mouthful thwarting the enunciation of his mockery while crumbs topple out of his big maw. She can envision it in vulgar detail because she bore witness to it dozens of times before, if not a couple hundred. For all she cares, he can go ahead and tease her for her shoddy cooking skills on any other day for the rest of eternity, but tonight would be unacceptable. She’s not sure she could take it! She might even lose the heart to dine with him altogether and scurry to her quarters in tears where she would hole herself up for the rest of the night. She just can’t botch the one night they have alone together. 

Most of the company had packed yesterday for a job located a day and a half’s travel eastward, which left the two of them in charge of manning the fort. Boyd only stayed behind because his best axe-hurtling arm had suffered injuries deeper than a heal staff alone could mend, and because Mist insisted they stay together for some alone time. It was then that they began to hatch plans for a romantic dinner, wherein Mist gleefully volunteered to cook something special for him. She had something to prove.

Thus, she combined her specialty with a dish Boyd had been craving: meat pies. Magical, Misterious meatloaf pies. Truth be told, the recipe had been made up on the spot. She had all day to prepare in near solitude. At around noon, Boyd had gone to the door, face a funny hue and eyes unable to meet hers just right while he struggled just to say he’d be going out to fetch romantic candles, then departed before she could interject with how the ones they already have lying around are just fine. Sure, he was acting a little weird, getting so worked up about something as trivial as candles, but his absence gives her the space to make the mess hall even messier. Her only complaints are the occasional nagging worry about him going out by himself while not in the best shape and the fact that she’s so lonely at the fort that she’s using herself as a conversation partner.

“I wonder when Boyd’s gonna get back?” She spares an uneasy glance at the waning sunlight outside the window. “If he’s late, I’m gonna hang him up to dry…” Her eyes trail in a steady, dreading motion toward the veritable piele of experiments that weren’t quite right. Then, the rolling pin comes into view, and the pans, the open sacks and leftover dough and oh by the name of the goddess she _really_ needs to get cleaning! It would do no good to have dinner be ready but the scene a pigsty. “Yikes! I really overdid it, didn’t I? Oh no; where am I gonna PUT all of these pies?” 

In a tizzy Mist flies across the room to collect every errant material and put it back in its rightful place. She shoves one of the tables close to the window for some atmosphere, washes the dishes, and decides to lump the culinary rejects into a tight, less visible corner of the countertop for now, just in case Boyd comes home before she’s even dressed up. The first thing to affront his eyes when he opens the door doesn’t need to be the evidence of how hard she tried. 

She hasn’t got many outfits, much less any nice enough to be meant for a special occasion. A large fraction of them weathered too many battles to mend, and some needed to be sold when money was tight. There is one she hasn’t donned in a long time and never had the heart to cash in, stashed neatly in the back of her closet: the dress Titania had bought for her. It’s been ages since the dress hugged her body, which belonged to a younger girl of fourteen, so the worry begins to creep through her mind as she laces the ribbon up her back, but in the end she spills a sigh of relief, though something else of hers spills over the collar a little more than it used to. She can thank her stars that besides a bit of tightness here and there, her body stayed petite enough to fit inside the white dress trimmed in pinks, reds and blacks, even with the passing of her teenage years. She pins a strand of hair in place and traipses out to the main hall.

It’s one of those storybook moments when two people run into each other at just the right time; Boyd cranks open the door and Mist rounds the corner into view, startling both of them in turn.

“Oh, uh…” stumbles Boyd, shoving a hand into his pocket. “Um. It’s you!”

On Mist’s cheeks is a faint dusting of pink that matches her partner’s. She digs her fingers into her skirts and glances away, not quite prepared for Boyd to catch her dolled up this way, and for him. “Of… Of course it’s me!” she rebukes. “Who else would you be expecting?”

He releases a nervous chuckle and swings the big, creaky door shut behind him. “Nobody! I guess I just wasn’t expecting…” He gestures toward her wildly, like he can’t formulate the proper words to describe. 

“Um, well… Yeah… Surprise!”

“Didn’t even give me a chance to put on something a little nicer? That’s hardly fair!”

“Excuse me! You were out all day, and for what? Fancy candles? I don’t see any, by the way!”

This seems to catch Boyd off guard. Flummoxed, he balls his fists with a stretchy grimace. “Blast! That’s what I forgot!”

Mist scrutinizes him with a suspicious eye. “How does someone forget to run the errand they set out to do in the first place? Come on, Boyd! Don’t be so hopeless!” 

“Cut me some slack! My mind was running rings! Um, that is to say, circles!”

She crosses her arms. “What _did_ you do, then?”

“Uhh…” Fortunately for Boyd, a dart of his eyes away from Mist leads him straight to noticing the pie collection. His attention span gets thrown in with it. He performs a double-take. “Holy crap! You’re not expecting an _army_ of me, are you?”

His remark hits her right in the self-consciousness. “L-Look! I just… I just wanted to get the flavor right! That’s all!”

Now that she’s distracted, Boyd hopes the topic doesn’t return to his phony purpose in leaving the fort. He cocks a wide grin and seals her new frame of mind with a taunt. “From the looks of it, it’s more likely you stopped because you ran out of ingredients.”

Mist’s face scrunches into an indignant pout. “Not true! I just… I seriously just wanted them to be perfect!”

“Well, with your track record… If this has anything to do with meatloaf, then I’m probably not gonna be able to eat anything for a week.”

She picks up her arms only to throw them back down again. “Shut up! I know, I know; I’ve made a lot of cookery mistakes in the past, but I’ve gotten better!” Her expression wanes solemn and heartfelt, like she’s opening herself up a crack to reveal a sliver of her vulnerability. “The reason I tried so hard was because… because I want tonight to be perfect, too. I don’t want you to hate the food. I want… you to be happy. I didn’t want to give you my second-best.”

Her transition to sincerity forces Boyd to drop his playful demeanor. Her eyes are just so big and clear, and they’re peering at him so pleadingly on top of that. It’s a very clear signal that if he continues to make light of the situation, he’s going to transform from a slight jerk into a huge jerk, and then she might cry, which he can’t stand, and he’s been through this song and dance so many times that he’s actually starting to get good at it sometimes. Besides, her steadfast dedication to pleasing him with something as simple as a meal warms the cockles of his heart. He exchanges his mocking smile for one that emerged from a deeper place in his soul.

“When you put it like that, I can’t knock it before I try it. That would be plain disrespectful of me, especially with all the effort you put into this. C’mere.” He holds out his arms in invitation. She brightens right up and scuttles into them, compacting herself into the expanse of his huge arms, hardly minding the leftover chill of the evening breeze permeating his skin enfolding hers.  He plants a kiss that was meant to be quick but lingers when he catches her scent mixed with something floral and floural.[†]

“You really do look nice,” he murmurs into her scalp. “When did you get that dress?”

Mist giggles. “Titania bought it for me some time ago, during the Mad King’s War. Thank goodness it still fits.”

Boyd thinks of something to say with his lizard brain, but conducts himself properly by not opening his mouth. Whether her reaction would be positive or negative is a mystery, but he doesn’t want to risk the latter event. Instead, he hugs her as tightly as he can without straining his bad arm and lets her go, regarding her with warmth. In his lapse of alternative replies, he congratulates himself on dodging the vital question as to what he had been up to. “Yeah. You still look great as ever.” Not the best or most clever response, but it might do. However, he gets overzealous. He adds, “No, you’re better than ever. A sight for sore eyes! I won’t be able to look at my plate, because my eyes will be too busy feasting on you instead.”

In return, Mist snorts, covering her mouth. “What a corny thing to say!” 

A wildfire lights Boyd’s cheeks aflame. “Shaddup! I thought it was witty!”

“I’m flattered, but you and pickup lines just don’t mix.” She pokes him in the chest.

Is he supposed to be offended? Whatever. He shrugs, deciding, “Yeah. I guess they don’t, huh? I’m more the action-y type than the guy who tries to butter up my date with bad compliments.”

“You know what? I think you are.” She takes one of his hands in both of hers and gently pulls him in the direction of the table, able to mask her pie-related apprehension with the lighthearted mood they created together. “But you can’t eat with your eyes, and I’m certainly not dinner, and I bet you’ve worked up an appetite being on your feet all day. Let’s eat!”

Boyd really can’t say no to food at this point, even if he is suspicious of her cooking as always. He’s willing to give it a chance. They light a plain old candle in lieu of whatever a romantic candle might have entailed and sit down to dine. Their faces glow in the hypnotic, steady flicker of the flame, awash in serene moonlight donated from outside the window as well. Worked up as they are about each other and their individual preparations about to unfold, the faint breeze’s slight chill fails to faze them. They’re too busy thinking about each other.

Mist holds her breath as Boyd takes the first bite. He chews a couple times, expression indeterminate and slaying Mist with the suspense, until he breaks into a sunnier disposition. “Hey! Not bad!” he remarks.

“What?! Really?” she asks in hopeful disbelief.

“Yeah! I have no idea what you did, but it’s like someone totally different baked this!”

Mist’s face fell. “Oh, come on. Give me some credit.” She rolls up the sleeve she barely has for dramatic effect. “The handiwork was all mine! I toldja I’d improved!”

“Guess all that experimentation was worth it. I’d hate to try the first one, though.” He swallows his bite and stabs his fork into the slice again.

Verbal silence transpires as the two of them dig into one of Mist’s successful bouts of home cooking. The Valkyrie’s bites remain modest and moderate, while Boyd’s start out ravenous before petering out into a slow, uneasy series of fork scoops. Especially attuned to her boyfriend tonight, Mist fixes her gaze on him with concerned arcs of her brow.

“Is something the matter? It’s not undercooked, is it?” She pokes at her slice to double-check. 

“What? Oh, no, nothing’s up.” He taps his heel in a frenzied measure beneath the table. “What makes you think that?”

Realizing she might be imagining things, Mist shakes her head and dismisses her intuition. “Never mind. I guess it was just a trick of the light.”

But Boyd knows better. Of course, he never noticed his subconscious face changes until Mist pointed them out, but that only makes him even more self-conscious than he already is. He puzzles how to wring out the words he wants to say to her, never being good with them to begin with and wondering if he should just scrap his whole plan and save it for another day. But then she smiles at him, and her hair looks so pretty tied up the way it is, but her side bangs frame her face the way he’s used to and he remembers how much they’ve been through together, growing up around battlefields and bandits. Seeing her now, she looks to be worlds away from scenes of bloodshed, the closest thing the sanguine hues of her dress. It manages to evoke a deeper line of thought from within.

“Y’know, after all this time… I guess I never really think about it much, but there were many times in the past we really cut it close.”

Mist blinks up at him. “What do you mean?”

“On the battlefield. There were times we fought almost every day. Our lives were at stake. I mean, they still are, but… What I think I’m trying to say is… I’m glad you’re here with me, and not in the dirt somewhere.”

Because she knows Boyd as well as family, Mist can look past the crudeness of his admission and find the sparkling core of its authenticity. She knows exactly what he means, except she hardly ever took their survival for granted; she prayed every day in thanks for those who lived and in hopes that they would be here tomorrow, too. Her heart is warmed by his sentiment, and in turn, she smiles, wide and genuine. When she smiles like this, Boyd’s feelings only deepen, and he gazes at her in the gentle light fondly. She really is like the wildflowers she always loved to pick, growing vibrant and full in spite of her untamed surroundings. He chuckles to himself sheepishly, scratching at the nape of his neck.

“I’m glad you’re here, too,” she replies softly, and then playfully, “It’s almost a miracle, considering how reckless you can be swinging that axe around.”

“Hey! You can get in over your head, too, taking on enemies twice your size, endangering yourself just to get someone’s wounds patched up.”

“Yeah, like yours. You might not _be_ here if I didn’t risk my life. I… think it was worth it.”

“My recklessness saved your butt, too. So don’t rag on one of my signature qualities.”

“If it gets you killed one day, I’m gonna complain about it nonstop.”

“Bring it on! I’d love to hear you talk to me every day, even if I’m pretty much a ghost by that point, and even if it’s nothing but you nagging me into a second death.”

Mist looks at him funny. “What are you trying to say?”

“It’s a weird way to put it, but I guess I’m gonna segue into what I’m _really_ trying to say.” He procures his hands from beneath the table, cupping each other like he’s concealing a tender baby bird within. Mist’s look only gets funnier and more curious. She holds her breath and stares a hole through them. Boyd proceeds, cheeks red and breath wasted from growing nerves.

“Listen, I… I’ve been trying to figure out the right time to say this, and the right way, but we’ve always been like family, always looked out for each other, cared about each other, and Mist… all along, I guess the words I really wanted to say were… uhh… I love you.” His face is beet red at this point, and hers swiftly catching up in color. “S-So… if you would, could you take my hands?”

“You’re not…” She can already chart the course of where this conversation ultimately seems to be going, but that can’t clamp her excitement down in the slightest. She purses her lips and tries to maintain the rest of her composure, opening up his hands with hers to reveal the glittering piece of jewelry meant to seal their bond symbolically. Wrapped up in the magic of the moment as they are, the door sliding open catches them by surprise.

Ike casts his gaze down upon the scene and interprets it for himself. “Oh. Are you proposing to Mist?”

“I-Ike?!” stutters Boyd, stricken by shock.

“Back already?!” Mist exclaims with about the same look on her face.

“Yeah. Turns out they didn’t need as much help as they thought they did.” The next thing his eyes pierce in the dim lighting is food. The hungry beast stirring within growls. His focus returns to the startled couple. “More importantly…” He looks as though he’s weighing something, the lines of his face impassive but his eyes creasing. Then, he smirks. “Thinking of marrying my sister, eh? That’s great. But if you’re going to take her hand in marriage, you’re going have to get by me, first.”

“Ike!” admonishes Mist. “What’s this all about?”

Boyd narrows his eyes. “I’m gonna what, now?”

“Get by me. In a contest.”

Mia pops in from behind Ike’s back with a wide-open, inquisitive gaze, Rolf and Rhys following next but coming across a little more puzzled by the unfolding scene.

“Ha!” The Berserker hoists his temporarily lame arm and rises to his feet in one bold motion. “I never would’ve thought you of all people would challenge me to a fight while I’m handicapped. That’s pretty low, but… if I have to fight for Mist’s love, then I’d fight you with both my arms out of commission!”

“No. That’s not what I meant.” He tilts his head toward the pie pile, discarding his sword by the door. “A speed-eating contest. If you can best me by eating the most pies the fastest, then you have my blessing. You can marry my sister.”

The peanut gallery, which grew by one Gatrie, gasps and awes over the news, a hushed, inscrutable amalgamate of clipped commentary filling the entryway. 

“Oh, is that all? Bring it on, sucker!” proclaims Boyd with moxie.

“You’ve got some guts with that confidence of yours. You know I have a talent for shoving food in my mouth real fast.”

“I guess Boss doesn’t wanna let his sister get in the hands of Boyd at any cost,” remarks Mia. “I may have bested him at swordplay a few times, but never at the dinner table!”

“Sheesh! Don’t put it like that!” wails Boyd, wondering if he really disapproves so much. The thought instills him with a dread so profound he can’t process it in one single moment.

“If you think you can handle me at my hungriest, you’ve got another thing coming,” warns Ike. He takes a seat at one of the long benches settled next to a big table closer to the center of the hall and waits for Boyd to join him in the dining arena.

“I’ve only had half a slice! I can take you!” He plants his butt down on the side opposite his opponent, meeting his gaze with fierce resolve.

Mist can scarcely believe how her proposal is unraveling before her; one moment she was a wellspring of sentimentality, the next, her big brother barges in and ruins the whole engagement with a speed-eating challenge. Of all THINGS! She looks on with a furious pout, eyes flashing in the candlelight. 

“This is so stupid! Ike! Boyd!”

Her displeasure goes mostly unnoticed, save for glances of helpless sympathy from Rhys and Rolf. The combatants order for the pies to be brought up and someone to be in charge of distributing them during the match. This honor goes to Rolf, who was all but ordered around by his elder brother, and Ike manages to rope Soren into serving as the designated judge, a task he observes with the most halfhearted desire. This delegation sets Boyd aflame with suspicion, and he argues they should have a more “impartial” judge on his side, too. Thus, Titania gets dragged into the position the moment she arrives, only marginally more interested in the antics than Soren. 

“Are we all ready here?” pipes Mia, throwing her hands into the air. “Place your bets, folks! Two hungry men, evenly matched in the constitution stat raring to eat their way to victory and love! This is a fight people would _pay_ to see!”

Shinon, skulking in last, snorts and says, “I wouldn’t pay a booger to watch these two ogres stuff their faces. That’s something I see in my recurring nightmares. Give me something nice like a raise and maybe I’ll hang around.”

“Goodnight, Shinon,” Titania dismisses. 

“Goodnight!” chimes in Rhys, mistaking her sarcasm for an earnest bid. Authenticity only rubs the Sniper the wrong way, and everyone gets told to shut up as he disappears from sight.

“That’s just like him, missing out on all the fun,” proclaims Gatrie, seated near the corner of the hall, grunting as he frees his shoulders of their weighty pauldrons. “By the way, what kind of pies are those? I might ask for a bite to eat before they’re all gone. We’re ALL famished from being on our feet all day! And some of us have a harder time of it than others.” His armor falls to the floor with a clang.

“They’re… They’re meatloaf,” Mist answers, hoping nobody raises a stink.

He wrinkles his nose unintentionally. “Hmm. There might be some leftovers lying around here somewhere, too…”

Boyd slams his fist on the table. “Actually? Mist’s pies aren’t half bad! They’re delicious, even!”

All of Mist’s turbulent feelings get swept away the moment he steps up to her defense. It was one thing to have him serve her a rare compliment earlier, but to do so in front of everyone like this really cheers her up. She clasps her hands together and can’t resist training her emotive gaze on her would-be fiancé. She really wants to marry him now! 

“Whoa… That’s the first time I’ve heard you compliment her meatloaf dishes,” notices Oscar. “Is this what inspired the move to propose…?”

“No way! I had it planned for a while. That’s just a bonus.”

“You’d better win, Boyd!” Mist half-cheers, half-threatens. 

Boyd reverts back into challenge mode. “Okay, but enough talk. I’ve got a bride to win. Let’s eat!”

Mia extends her arm out between the two of them, palm flat, and releases it like a flag at a horse race. “Threetwoonego!!”

The beefy pair of mercenaries dive into their pies headfirst, inhaling flaky, meaty chunks through their gullets. It’s one thing to watch the likes of Ike and Boyd wolf down a large meal on an empty stomach, but that’s like comparing a light breeze to a cyclone when it comes to a battle of swift scarfing. Pie Number One is gone in just under three minutes for Ike, Boyd only narrowly falling behind by about fifteen seconds.

“You’re losing already!” cries Mist.

“Mmmphpphpph!” he retorts, gagging on a mass of overspiced filling. He wonders if maybe this might have been one of the original few rejects. But he must soldier on, because if anything whips him to keep striving, it’s to hear that he’s currently the loser.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” advises his older brother with a quaint smile. “Save your jaw flapping for the pie.”

Boyd kind of wants to punch Oscar, if only because he can say whatever he wants right now and never get told off for it. He takes a mighty bite instead and clears a fourth of his platter in one go.

There’s a lot more swallowing going on than chewing. Everyone waits in suspenseful near-silence until the room explodes in cheers when Boyd finishes just a second before Ike, thrusting his hand out for his next dish. 

“He’s gaining some headway!” announces Mia. “C’mon, Boss, don’t let him destroy you!”

Mist gapes at the Swordmaster, playfully stricken. “You’re on HIS side? Don’t tell me you’re against our marriage!”

“What? No, that’s not it. I just wanna see him win, that’s all!”

“It’s the same thing! If he wins, Boyd’s not allowed to marry me!” she points out with a resentful sulk.

“Well,” interrupts Gatrie, “I’ll have you know I’m rooting for Boyd, so you have my full blessing!”

“I kind of want to see what it looks like when Boyd beats Ike in a pie-eating contest,” muses Titania with a grin, more interested in this ordeal than she’d been a few minutes ago. “The stakes are pretty high, so he’s going all out.” She casts her eyes on Mist in all her evening regale, regarding her with fond warmth. Mist feels her heart glow in spite of the gross business of express pigging out.

“I hate to spoil it for you, but it’s not gonna be pretty to watch,” jibes Shinon in the corner, leaning against the wall and clutching a bottle with a long neck. “Doesn’t matter who’s still in the running; in the end, their puke’s gonna be the same color.”

Their resident priest blanches before glancing about the room. “M-Maybe I should go fetch some buckets…” He forsakes his role as spectator to pioneer the barf mitigation movement.

Everything seems to be picking up for Boyd. His morale boosted, he orally wails on that pie like tomorrow won’t happen and he’s concealing a stomach as infinite as Ilyana’s. All he can think of are the boasts he’ll slam down upon Ike when he’s finished. ‘Those pies were a mouthful, but your loss must be the hardest thing to swallow!’ ‘I think I’ve more than proved the lengths I’ll go if Mist is on the line!’ ‘The only thing you’ll be eating for dessert is your own shame!’ The high was as peachy as fruit cobbler, but when he rams his mouth into his fourth pie, he gags and clutches his face.

What did she do, accidentally cook her boot in this?! The pie tastes TERRIBLE! 

Rhys sets the bucket down and gets fretful, hover-handing until he places a palm against his back and reminds him to swallow, not choke. Mist is aghast. Now all of her failures will be exposed for them to taste… Trying to keep a cap on her frustration, she shouts, “If it tastes that bad, just… just get it over with!”

“It’s not just Boyd who is affected,” Titania points out. Ike’s disrelished face becomes center of attention for a few seconds. Mist’s self-esteem plummets further.

“The pie’s flavor and consistency slows Ike down considerably, it seems,” Soren observes, nudging the glass of water next to him with his finger as a subtle suggestion.

“Your meatloaf is both a blessing and a curse,” remarks Oscar. “I’m sure your last batch turned out better,” he adds to reassure her tormented emotions. “At this rate, if you could remember which ones came first, you might be able to rig this in Boyd’s favor by giving him the better ones.”

Mist shakes her head, biting her lip. “They all look the same right now, even to me… Besides, I feel like that would just be cheating.”

The pies keep vanishing from the pile, the tension rising as everyone wonders when the limit will finally be breached, and by who. The judges keep faithful and accurate tallies, neither having any vested interest in skewing the results in either participant’s favor to begin with; Shinon’s background commentary grows louder, frequent and more slurred; the cheering and hollering drowns it out, most of the cries in favor of Boyd’s win, spurring him on to chow down faster and yet even faster. He outspeeds Ike by a factor of nearly 1.5 times for a good minute here, pupils dilating, runnels of spittle and crust seeping down his jaw, pores erupting an ample sheen of sweat. Painful lines carve into his expression. His speed drops, and the cheering dies down and gives rise to worry.

“Ya didn’t poison the pie, didja?” asks Shinon through bursts of laughter.

“No way! I think he’s just…”

Rolf’s face twists like Boyd’s. “He’s probably just gonna-“

A deluge of chunky regurgitated meatloaf matter evacuates from Boyd’s body like Tellius’s great flood itself, missing the bucket and not only ruining his own chances of ever finishing his ninth pie, but Ike’s, too.

“-Puke!!” finishes Rolf hastily as he swings his arm straight out to block Mist from the overflow and backs up along with everyone else. Rhys excuses himself for the night with his sleeve covering his mouth. This digestive disruption is Ike’s cue to stop munching; he bursts from his seat and nearly trips backwards, but Mia grabs both of his arms and acts as a bulwark against him and the woodplanked floor.

“Boyd is automatically disqualified. The win goes to Ike,” announces Soren, glad for the end, but not how it came about.

“N-Noo!” burbles the loser through gritted teeth, digging his knuckles into his thighs as he wishes the mess weren’t there so he could just collapse onto the table. It is difficult to contest, but his face may look more pained than it had during his final stretch.

“You overdid it,” mentions Ike, wiping his sullied face with the back of his forearm. “You got impatient and ate those pies way too fast. It’s no wonder you threw it all up.”

“Damn it all!” wails the Berserker, smashing his fist into his leg enough to make it jump. “I was so close…!”

Titania wrinkles her nose. “Oscar, get him a napkin or few.”

“Already on it,” he replies from the storage shelves.

Boyd looks close to tears, the regret more palpable than the mess on his face. “I’m sorry, Mist… I failed you.”

The Valkyrie transcends her disgust for the pity she feels for his genuine lamentation, grabbing a napkin from Oscar and placing a hand on his shoulder while she swabs at his face. “It’s okay. You were up against my brother. He’s well-known for his supernatural stomach.”

“And the reason we spend so much on rations,” bitches Shinon.

“But now we can’t get married! Ike won’t let me, because I wasn’t man enough to beat him in a pie-eating contest!”

“More like monster enough,” inputs Shinon. 

“Will you shut up?” Mist demands.

Ike steps over the bench to get a respectable distance away from Boyd’s puke, but stands next to him all the same. “You know… I was joking about the whole thing.”

Boyd jolts upright, tearing himself away from Mist’s ministrations to stare dumbfounded at Ike. “What?”

“Nobody needs to win my sister’s love. You don’t need my blessing. All you really need to get it is for Mist to say yes. That’s good enough for me.”

“So… all this. All this stuffing my face only to hurl it back up violently… was for nothing…?”

“Well, not nothing. I was pretty hungry, and after an uneventful few days, a contest seemed like a good way to knock down some boredom. I didn’t realize you took my words so seriously.”

“I… I can’t believe… haha… hahaha…” He laughs weakly, staring into a distant space ahead.

“Sorry it came to this. You can go ahead and ask her again.”

“Are you kidding me?! Not with this kind of humiliation! I just lost a match to you, and on top of that I’m covered in greasy food and my own barf. I’m sorry, but the moment was ruined.”

“No, I should be sorry. Guess I got carried away.” He scratches the back of his neck and glances around the room, feeling out of sorts from realizing in retrospect how he just trashed his own sister’s and a good friend’s perfect proposal. “I’ll help clean things up. You can take it easy for the night.”

“It’s fine! Totally fine. I’ll get my revenge somehow,” vows Boyd with a queasy, self-assured grin, which gets completely covered by Mist’s napkin.

And so, Boyd never did get to propose to Mist that night. He did, however, propose a rematch, and to make his nuptial vows even better than some stupid dinner date that ended in nauseating tragedy.

**Author's Note:**

> † I make up words all the time because I’m like goddamn Shakespeare over here.  [ return to text ]
> 
> I finished this a few days ago, but I posted it today because it's Pi Day and I must think I'm funny or something.
> 
> On another note, I also had a coworker puke all over me today. I felt at that moment deeply within my soul that this was divine retribution for even entertaining posting a fic that contains unsavory descriptions of digestive mishaps. So if you're mad at me for that, you can feel vindicated.


End file.
